


honey, don't feed it

by skvadern



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, Complicated Relationships, F/F, Season 3, Tenderness, so u make her tea instead, tfw ur gf is maybe becoming a werewolf and u dont know how to help her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: I can see you in the back garden / Watching as the back door swings open / And I see you there, / skeletal and bloody / Remembering who you are / Saying “I’m no longer fit for you / But I’m not going anywhere”Basira gets a visitor.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 21
Kudos: 101





	honey, don't feed it

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this incredible archivistbot poem](https://archivistbot.tumblr.com/post/616675122847334400/basira-can-you-read-me-a-poem-basira-flips) which reached into my chest and bit into my heart and made me write 2k in a mad rush of emotion. very much love to the eye horror server, esp john who sent the post and kicked this off, and mads who sprinted with me as i wrote so many words in so little time. love yall bastards, and i promise ill go to sleep now.  
> title from it will come back by hozier

It’s the creaking that wakes Basira, snagging at her dreams until it tugs her out of them. She surfaces in her dark bedroom, cold and fresh with night air, the way she likes it. From the open window, she can hear the arrhythmic squeal of the garden gate, as the wind tugs it open and closed.

That gate, the one that opens onto the alleyway running behind her house, is always locked.

Basira scrambles out of bed as soon as that thought crashes in. She grabs her jumper from the bed, tugging it on as she hurries over icy floorboards to the window.

There’s someone in her garden, pale and shirtless and streaked all over with black, on their knees in the grass. They’re facing away from the house, staring up at the full moon that, this far into the suburbs, is the brightest light in the garden. For a moment, Basira doesn’t know who they are, but then her eyes catch on an even whiter shape on the figure’s back. The starburst scar on one shoulder, vivid and sheened in the moonlight.

She wants to call out, but some unnamed dread stops her. Instead, Basira quickly turns and leaves her bedroom.

If Samira was home, she’d have to be a lot quieter. But her sister is somewhere in South America at the moment, filming for some BBC nature documentary, so Basira doesn’t have to mind the floorboards as she jogs down the stairs. A good thing too – Basira has a sneaking suspicion she knows what the dark streaks on Daisy’s skin are, and she’s really rather not deal with her sharp-eyed sister’s questions.

She unlocks the back door as quietly as she can, but she needn’t have bothered – Daisy doesn’t look around. Slipping on a pair of sliders, Basira steps out onto the paved slabs by the door. After the relative warmth of the rest of the house, the cold air hits her again, sharp and clean even if it’s London. She sucks in a deep breath, letting it clear the last of the sleep from her head, before she starts across the grass.

Dew immediately soaks her to her ankles, the grass long enough that every step sinks into it – she might as well not have bothered wearing the sliders at all. Her feet start squeaking against the rubber before she reaches Daisy, and she feels increasingly worried when the obvious sound of her steps doesn’t rouse Daisy. Normally, the other woman might as well have radar.

This close, Basira can see the steam coming off Daisy’s exposed skin, the crusted edges of the black streaks. She’s lost her bra as well, and her beautiful bare back heaves with each deep, unsteady breath.

Basira hates herself for it, but her first reaction is wariness. Like she’s approaching a wounded dog, waiting for it to snap at her. Like Daisy would _ever_. Still, she says “Daisy,” before she tries to touch her.

For long moments, Daisy says nothing, and Basira wraps her arms around her belly, holding herself steady against the rising anxiety. Then she says, soft and rusty-voiced, “Full moon tonight.”

“Yeah,” Basira replies, for lack of anything else to say. Her hands want to shake, but she can’t let them. Right now, as so often in the field together, Daisy needs her solid.

“That’s the myth, isn’t it,” Daisy continues, her tone faded and far-away. “Full moon, people turn into wild beasts.” From this close, Basira can see her trembling, muscles quivering finely.

“That’s the myth,” she repeats, trying desperately to understand what Daisy wants her to say. What she needs from Basira right now.

At last, Daisy turns, and Basira stifles a gasp. However bloody Daisy’s back is, it’s nothing to her front. Her sharp-boned face is black with gore, her chest splattered thick with it. The moonlight turns the clean patches to silver, shining out against the night-black blood. Every heave of her chest, ribs stark against the stained skin, makes her look more and more like a beast, some mad Celtic hunter goddess fallen out of the primeval forest and into Basira’s overgrown back garden.

Daisy stares up at her, eyes wide and wild. “So why am I still _human_?” she hisses, voice breaking into shards on the words. “I _feel_ like – why do I still look like _this?”_

Basira reaches out to touch her, and catches herself before she does. Some animal instinct tells her that Daisy should make the first move.

“I don’t know, Daisy,” she says softly, biting back the tremor that wants to creep in. Then, because however scared she is to ask questions, this one needs to be asked – “Are you hurt?”

Daisy laughs at this, or at least, it’s probably a laugh. Broken down the middle, harsh and choked. “No, no, _I’m_ not hurt.” She subsides with a sigh that sounds like something vital being torn from her chest. “Everything Elias sent me after, everyone who stood in my way, sure. Not me, though. I’m just fine.”

Basira’s brain catches on a word, and as much as she wants to, she can’t let go of it. _Everyone_. _Every_ one.

She doesn’t want to ask. She really, really doesn’t want to ask, so she’s not going to. If she needs to know, she can find out tomorrow – right now, Daisy is her priority. Her stoic, proud partner looks like she’s about to burst out of her body, come to pieces here under the uncaring eye of the moon.

“You’re not fine, though, are you?” she says, and Daisy looks up at her with moon-soaked eyes, wetness gleaming like glass at their corners.

Daisy shrugs, stretching the dried skin of blood clinging to her muscles. “I’m… I’m coming back. To myself. It’s harder than it should be.” Her eyes dip down to the soaked grass, a single tear glinting as it slips down her cheek.

Basira breaks, then. She steps forward with her hands outstretched and Daisy snatches at them, curling gore-crusted hands around Basira’s clean skin and throwing herself forward. Her head thunks into the soft curve of Basira’s stomach, face buried in Basira-scented wool.

Basira locks her knees, and when Daisy lets go of her hands to clutch hard at her waist, she buries her hands in Daisy’s hair. It’s still, somehow, in its plait, though large chunks have worked their way loose. It’s as blood-splattered as the rest of her, but if Basira digs her fingers in she can feel the smooth, warm strands tucked beneath.

“You’re here,” she says, her voice catching on the words. “You’re with me. I’m not letting you go.”

“I know,” Daisy groans, words vibrating up through Basira’s belly and into her chest. “I know. I don’t want you to.”

~~~~~

When the shower cuts off, Basira can’t help tensing up. She forces her shoulders down again, biting her lip as she collects up a set of pyjamas. Daisy normally sleeps naked, but tonight, Basira is pretty sure she’ll want something on.

She’s right; when she knocks on the bathroom door and Daisy opens it, she takes the pyjamas without a second glance. She shrugs the towel off, draping it over the radiator when Basira gives her a look, and tugs the pyjamas on with brisk unselfconsciousness.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Basira asks, “or drink?”

Daisy shrugs. Her face is back to its normal hard calm, but Basira’s known her long enough to see beneath it. It takes a moment for her to sum up the courage to take Daisy’s wrist, but when she does, Daisy curls her hand round to hold Basira’s wrist in turn. Basira leads them down the dark and creaking stairs, and into the living room.

She sits Daisy down on the old, too-soft sofa, making sure she’s properly sunk into it before she pads into the kitchen. She doesn’t want to take too long, but she still fills a pan with milk instead of boiling the kettle, steeping the tea bags in that instead. Her gran would probably sigh at the lack of spices simmering in the milk, but Basira will work with what she’s got.

When the chai is done, she takes it through to the living room, smiling to see Daisy’s got company. Rusty has plonked himself in her lap, purring loudly as Daisy’s now-clean hands sink into his fur. He adores Daisy, and normally Basira would pretend to be put out by it, but not tonight.

Daisy takes the offered mug, sighing deeply as she takes a big sip. She seems to hold it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, and then says “’M sorry.”

“What for?” Basira asks. It's a fair question, she thinks - there's quite a long list of possibilities.

“I always do this," Daisy replies. "Make you look after me.”

Basira rolls her eyes. “You’ve looked after me too, plenty of times. Remember our first case together? I was a _wreck_.”

That at least gets Daisy to chuckle. “Heh, you were, a bit.”

“And you took me home, after all the paperwork. Made me tea.” Basira can’t help but smile at the memory. “It was way too sweet.”

“You need it sweet, after a shock,” Daisy argues. Her voice is still too soft, but Basira’s just glad to see some fight back in her.

“Not that sweet,” she disagrees, fanning the spark. “You’re lucky I didn’t get diabetes after the one cup.”

Daisy scoffs, then looks down again. “Still shocked you haven’t kicked me out.”

“Why would I do that?” Basira asks in surprise. “I mean, I’d appreciate a call next time you need to break into my garden, but you know you’re always welcome here.”

Daisy keeps her eyes fixed on the hand still buried in Rusty’s fur. “Basira, I was _covered_ in blood. Talking about being a bloody _werewolf_ – I know you’re good at accepting weird shit, but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

Basira’s shaking her head before Daisy can finish her sentence. “I think I get to decide what’s ‘a bit much for me’. And this isn’t it. I’m not going to throw you out because some job Elias sent you on went bad.”

“You should,” Daisy says bleakly, slow-blinking at Rusty when he looks up at her with happily slitted eyes. “There’s something wrong with me, Basira. We both know that. Has been for a while.” She gulps more chai, and Basira takes a sip of her own, more to mask her expression than to taste it.

Daisy smiles bitterly at her silence. “Yeah, you know. I’m not safe, if I ever was. Probably shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you, then?” Basira asks. Her voice has gone very small, and she hates it.

Finally, Daisy looks up, and meets her eyes. “Because I needed to see you, and I knew you’d let me in.”

There’s not really anything Basira can say to that, so she sips her cooling chai and watches Daisy drink hers.

Daisy is the one who takes Basira’s mug when they’re finished, takes them into the kitchen. Turfed off his nice warm perch, Rusty jumps ship onto her lap, but keeps his eyes trained on the doorway Daisy walked through.

“Yeah,” Basira tells her cat softly, smoothing her hands over soft, warm fur and aching to bury her face in Rusty’s belly, like she does on her worst days. “I know the feeling.”

“I locked the back door,” Daisy says from where she’s leaning against the doorway. Basira’s too tired to flinch at how quiet the other woman moves; she just nods her thanks and scoops Rusty into her arms, following Daisy back up the stairs.

Rusty leaps from her as they enter the bedroom, padding over to the bed and jumping up to settle on one of the pillows. Basira follows him, sitting on the edge of the mattress and watching Daisy stare out of the window, hands braced against the sill and head tilted up. The room is washed with moonlight, and Daisy looks only a little less wild than she did in the garden. Calmer, but still a hunter, still a beast.

“Come to bed,” Basira says into the darkness, holding out a hand.

It looks like it takes real effort for Daisy to pull herself away from the window, but she does eventually cross the room. Basira’s legs part for her, and Daisy comes to stand between then, taking her hand and smoothing her thumb over the skin. For a moment, she just looks down at Basira, drinking her in with eyes that haven’t lost all their hunger.

Basira levels her gaze right back, until Daisy finally looks away. She urges Basira up onto the bed, following right behind her until they’re curled up facing each other, sharing the same pillow. Basira twines their legs together, and Daisy pulls the covers over them both.

In the dark and the moonlight, Daisy’s hand finds Basira’s cheek. Basira’s breath leaves her in a rush when Daisy cups it, brushes the softest kiss over her lips.

“You really want me here?” Daisy murmurs when she pulls back, and Basira nods. She turns her head to press her lips to Daisy’s palm.

“Good,” Daisy replies. “Then I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [i do in fact have a daisira playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5rk7q2q5GrOWckr0v5IrI9?si=Fn8VxwnnSD-hcRwNqHI3Kw)


End file.
